


Home Before Dark

by gayexol



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alcohol, Ass-Kicking, Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Canon Trans Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Fight Club - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Robert/Ned Friendship, we all are want to fucking die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7589107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayexol/pseuds/gayexol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The glint in Jacob's eye tells Ned that he's not just going to back away. Ned knows he's dangerous, maybe, him being the champion of the Robert's Fight Club and all.<br/>Yes, he knows. And it couldn't matter less to him. Back there in the ring, Jacob looked indomitable. Beastly.<br/>Ned wants to see that side more often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Before Dark

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhhhh !!! who writes assassins creed fic??? about neddy and jacob??? ur damn right it's me i want to die all the time  
> shoutout 2 ned i love you also i love krem (((gotta lov them trans boys))) thanks y'all and @god

The second Ned Wynert shakes Jacob’s Frye’s hand, he knows he’s done for.

When he glances up into Jacob’s eyes, for once in his life he doesn’t see thinly-veiled distaste; all he sees is an ambitious, energetic, and certainly _handsome_ young man. The way Jacob grins at Ned makes him unconsciously perk up; he stands up straighter and he feels his face light up.

He’s tall, a good few inches taller than Ned, even with his tacky bowler hat. Ned eyes the way Jacob’s roughed-up coat flutters around his sides as he shuffles a bit closer to him. The colorfully patterned undervests he wears attempt to mask up his otherwise harsh and bawdy demeanor, but Ned can see right through it.

Jacob is just like Ned. A misfit, a rebel. The thought brings another wry smile to his lips.

 A few days prior, Robert had told him to expect the Frye twin to be “more than eccentric”, but as Ned hold’s Jacob’s stare, all he can think about is the feeling of a gloved hand gently holding his own. He wouldn’t expect in a million, million years to ever be graced with someone as breathtaking as Jacob Frye.

Jacob’s hand is pulled away a moment later, but Ned’s mind still lingers on the simple touch. He looks away, back towards Jacob’s twin, Evie. She smiles at him, warm and pleasant, as he shakes her hand. The similarities between the twins are few and far between, but Ned notices the twee way the corners of their eyes crinkle when they grin genuinely. He hasn’t felt this welcome in a long time.

“Ned Wynert. Robert Topping told me about you two. It’s going to be a pleasure doing business with your faction,” Ned manages to keep his voice even and calm, even when Jacob smirks back at him, expression easy and affable.

Jacob and Evie both return the pleasantries, and then shuffle about on their train base, Evie muttering something small and strained about a “Shroud”, while Jacob slips past Henry and towards the back carriage. Ned remains standing, still grinning, against the bookcases behind him, inspecting the tarnished, dusty covers with an absent eye.

He maintains his cordiality long after Jacob and Evie vanish from his sight completely, the rumbling of the heavy locomotive barreling down the tracks covering up the slight tremor in his fingertips.

Yes, Ned Wynert is done for.

He could barely stop the unfamiliar sigh escape his lips as he watches Jacob stroll down the carriage and leap off the train with one bound. Ned just manages to catch a glimpse of the tip of his velvet top hat as it speeds by, his frame quickly receding into the shadows and gone without another blink.

  _Figures_.

The very next day, Ned pays another visit to Robert. He knows his usual spots are dotted around London’s most decrypt alleys and factories, places shifting day to day in refuge from the coppers. Ned drops by a few hours before sundown, getting word from a couple of street urchins that the latest club was down in the Strand.

Ned shoves his hands into his jacket pockets as he makes his way through a dirty side street, drunkards seemingly swarming the clustered buildings around them. He’s used to this. Ned postures himself, his chin high and shoulders square, forcing the illusion of seeming bigger.

The gutsy crowd dissipates and gives way, Ned stepping over discarded bottles and newspapers and squinting against the midday light as he descends farther into the alleyways. Eventually, the sound of cheering catches his attention towards a rickety door plastered with flyers for the fight club.

Ned takes a breath and pushes it open, ducking inside and letting the door shut behind him. He scans the crowded room, packed end to end with cheering lords and ladies spectating several fights going underway in the closed-off pit. It’s dim in here, makeshift stands sitting full in the corners, windows covered by haphazardly placed tarps and cloths.

He stands to the side for a bit, standing up on the tip of his toes to try and find a familiar face in the endless crowd. Ned is almost about to call it a day when he spots his brightly dressed friend making tallies on a chalk board, counting each contester’s rounds in the ring.

Ned smiles to himself and pushes through the rowdy clusters of people, keeping an eye on Robert’s ridiculously tall hat as he makes his way towards his friend.

 “Rob! Robert!” Ned shoves past one more fan and almost stumbles into him.

“Ah, Ned Wynert! What do you need this time?” he smiles, a shark-toothed grin that reminds Ned of the days where they’d pull jobs together.  

“Look, old friend, do you know where Jacob Frye would be most nights?” Ned yells, straining to get his words heard over the sickeningly loud sound of punches and kicks from the ring.

“Wow Ned, didn’t know anyone, least of all _you_ , would fancy someone as reckless as Jacob Frye!” Robert practically cries in delight, mockery slipping like poison into his tone, “It must be the whole ‘bad boy’ attitude, isn’t it?”

“Shut it. You know, or you don’t. Tell me,” Ned whispers seriously, knowing that Robert can hear the urgency in his voice.

Robert raises his hands in defeat. “Alright, yeah yeah. Don’t get worked up. You can actually find him here most days, after the sun goes down. Bloody madman likes to blow off some steam at the end of the day, if you know what I mean.”

Ned clears his throat and thanks his old buddy, giving him a polite nod and tip of his hat before sliding into the crowd surrounding them and retreating to the very back. The spectators are less dense here, making the air somewhat more able to breathe, the explosive energy pulsing from the pit turning into something more languid and far away.

Ned spots a tiny area for him to cram into, just large enough to hold a table where he can lean against. Robert said Jacob would be here, and Ned has nothing better to do than wait. He makes himself comfortable, swiping a mug of ale from the nearest bar-maid and taking a swig from it instantly. Why is he here?

What does Ned even plan on doing?

He won’t lie. He wants to see Jacob. Wants to see a lot _more_ of Jacob, actually, but that’s a vice that Ned keeps to himself.

Ned nurses that mug of beer for a while, so long the fights in the ring merge together into one continuous match. It must be dark by now, hopefully, because the crowd grows into a swelling, untamable mess of people packing themselves together to get a glimpse of the fighters.

Robert comes over to the table a few times during Ned’s wait, chatting about the Blighters and the police, and occasionally giving him tiny reassurances. “He’ll be here. Just like every night, Ned,” Rob soothes, the corners of his lips creasing up.

Ned thanks him again and continues to stalk the pit, gaze sometimes sliding over to the entrances where stragglers stumble in with their mates, their cheers adding to the noise hanging heavily the air. Ned sighs and puts his elbow onto the uneven wooden tabletop in front of him, resting his head against the fist leaning on his cheek.

How long has he been here? Hours? And yet, there wasn’t the slightest indication that Jacob would show up. Ned feels the tiniest bit embarrassed in himself, having spent all this time awaiting on the arrival of someone as disreputable as Jacob Frye. What a waste. He should just head back for his headquarters or back to the train.

Ned takes one last sip from his ale and lets it clatter onto the table, pushing himself up and eyeing the exits. In the short amount of time he’s known Jacob, he should come to realize that the man is anything but predictable. The train hideout will be his best bet, or maybe he could just ask Evie about Jacob’s whereabouts. Ned starts to make his way out of the club, slow and insignificant, sullen attitude a stark contrast from the downright electric feel in the air.

A man walks in with a velvet top hat.

Half the crowd screams, an excited shriek shared by nearly all of the drunken patrons. Ned can hear Robert downright _laughing_ , almost a squeal of joy. The spectators part to the sides of the house to clear a path for the new stranger, fists being raised in the air and hats being thrown as the man saunters confidently into the ring. Ned stands up tall, straining to get a better look at who is causing such a commotion.

Problem is, he can’t see a goddamn thing from back here. Ned sucks in a breath, tucks his arms to the sides, and squeezes through the tight mob, hoping to manage to get to the front of it all. He slithers between the lords and ladies barely able to tame their excitement, wondering _who it could_ be as Ned tries to shove past a rather large onlooker. He finally emerges on the other side, getting a shove from a crowd member near him.

Ned looks up, readjusting his glasses slightly, hands gripping the half-finished wooden ring taking up most of the room. The man has his back to him, Robert placing a fond hand on his shoulder and cheering along with the room of people. Rob suddenly glances behind the other man, spotting Ned, and gives him a sly wink.

Ned doesn’t have to be confused for much longer. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to announce our returning champion, none other than the legendary Jacob Frye!”

Holy _shit_. Jacob showed up? He _really did._ Maybe this excursion wouldn’t be such a waste after all.

Ned swallows the lump in his throat and breathes, eyes trailing down Jacob’s frame as he waves to his adoring fans, the same intricate gold designs on his clothing glinting off of the lights dotted above him. Ned stays silent, awaiting for Jacob’s fight to take place.

Surprisingly, Jacob goes to the middle of the pit and starts working his gloves off, fingers flexing as he wrestles the black gloves off his hands and into the arms of Robert. Then, as Ned watches with excruciating detail, he tucks his hands underneath his heavy coat and slides it off, draping it over his arm.

Jacob smiles as the crowd hollers at him, shaking his head before gingerly unbuttoning the beautiful green and gold patterned vest he always wears, and then the red one under it. He gives the clothing to Robert again, pacing around the ring once more and shaking the hands of a few members in the throng of people.

Ned doesn’t miss the expanse of skin showing from his dress shirt, the first buttons undone already. The muscles in Jacob’s arms shift as he continues to wave unwaveringly. Is he really the champion? He is a trained gang leader and master of the underworld, but all Ned can think about is how strong Jacob would be to claim the title.

Champion.

He stands there, anticipating Jacob’s fight, but it still doesn’t come. What else is the man waiting for? Ned doesn’t want to wait with bated breath for a fight that never comes to pass.

Jacob’s fingers grasp at the last buttons of his white shirt and pulls them out of place, the final piece of clothing sliding off his body and, of course, getting handed to Robert, who smiles and ducks out of the pit and leaves Jacob alone.

Ned’s lips part the smallest bit, feeling an unfamiliar need to look away, but his gaze holds. Jacob’s left exposed in the ring, and the smile couldn’t be larger on his face. He’s left with only a few belts, worn-out trousers, and his sturdy boots on his body. Jacob seems to _love_ this. 

Ned eyes drift, and he can’t help but notice the two tattoos Jacob has. One is a design of a sparrow with its wings outstretched, placed on his upper chest, and the other is a minimalist design of a compass, located on his left arm.

God, Ned can’t believe this. How much does he want to bet that Evie doesn’t even know about those evil, _evil_ tattoos? Jacob is stocky and strong- no lie there- the years of training and fighting leaving him particularly well-built. He flexes his arm just for the show of it, and the crowd seems to scream even louder than before.

Jacob wraps some bandages around his fists in place of boxing gloves, expression almost at ease. Robert pulls his chalk board up to the edge of the pit and whispers a few words to his workers, them going through the crowd and getting a group of men lined up to fight.

Jacob faces Robert, cracking his fingers in intimidation, rolling out his muscles as he prepares to fight. Finally, three brawny men hop over the guardrail, and the match begins.

It’s like they never had a chance.

Jacob flies forward, flowing to the first man and reaching up to him, grabbing his face and pulling him forward before giving him an elbow to the back, where he ends up crumpled on the floor. Jacob’s back is still turned when another man swings at him, Jacob effortlessly dodging and countering the haphazard attack with one of his own.

Jacob Frye stands over two bodies and stares down the last man standing.

Ned can’t hear a thing. The crowd is gone, absent and unimportant. Time slows down to static. Jacob glides across the ring, footsteps careful and calculated, eyes reading every movement the other fighter attempts. Ned wouldn’t be wrong if he theorized that Jacob looked like he’d been fighting his whole life.

 Jacob rears back his bloody fist and throws it, it landing squaring on the jaw of the other fighter. The man lets out a groan, and Jacob cuts him off before he can finish. He grabs his face and slams him, full force, into the wooden floor.

Jacob Frye stands over the bodies of three men and doesn’t have a scratch on his own. His chest heaves with deep, rumbling breaths as he wipes at his brow, scratching the back of his neck lazily. It’s all too simple for him.

For Ned, the world flies back in full, manic color, emotion and triumph flooding over the mob as they all congratulate Jacob for his unsurprising victory. Robert eagerly places one tally mark next to Jacob’s name on the chalk board, and then there’s four men entering the ring.

Jacob cocks his head to the side and breathes, his eyes slipping closed for a second. Ned doesn’t dare move. Jacob is unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. Ned doesn’t challenge his title of ‘champion’ anymore. It like Jacob isn’t concerned at all- almost like it’s a _chore_ for him to demolish the groups of men placed in front of him.

The fight goes another round. And then another. And another. Not one man has landed a single punch on Jacob. The sheer impossibility of it thrills Ned, and soon he becomes swept along with the unhindered glee of the crowd. _He’s a champion. He’s a goddamn champion._

“The final match”, someone yells, and it’s like the spectators around Ned become uncontrollable, inhuman. A mess of people shifts into something that feels living, breathing, tangible. The entire room feels _alive_. There’s so many leaning against the rickety guardrail that for a second, Ned’s concerned it’ll fall over. Jacob kicks a man’s body to the side and is greeted with ten fighters, the last group of men that’s standing between him and victory.

Ned watches in awe as Jacob pummels nine trained, muscular fighters into the ground. The last one, a huge man that towers over even Jacob’s tall figure, stares down at him. Jacob doesn’t even blink. He even smirks, the bastard.

He roars, kneeing him in the ribs, the sickeningly sharp sound of ribs braking vibrating over the noise emanating from the spectators. Jacob watches as he stumbles backwards in pain, still managing to throw a weak punch in his direction. He easily dodges it and latches onto the fighter’s back, tugging an arm and pinning it behind him as Jacob throws the other man into the edge of the railing.

Right in front of Ned.

Ned leaps back, along with a sizable section of the crowd, as Jacob smashes the man’s head into the flyer-plastered wood. He wipes the sweat from his brow and grins, backing away and not seeming to notice Ned in front of him. The fighter somehow manages to stumble back up onto his feet, adrenaline forcing him to continue the round.

Jacob claps his hands together in challenge and sizes himself up, raising his fists. The man charges at him and soon, they’re locked together, hands scrambling to push the other off. Ned unconsciously leans forward, nearly into the ring, cheering with all of his might for Jacob to win. In that second Ned doesn’t feel the slightest concern for anything other than Jacob- everything else is so, so unimportant.

“Frye, end this already!” Ned screams, voice covered up by yells and hollering.

Maybe not so well covered up as he thought.

Jacob continues to struggle against the stronger man, but turns his head towards the familiar voice, eyes quickly scanning the crowd in confusion. Ned stops breathing, backing away too late.

Jacob catches his eye and stares at him. Ned can’t look away.

“Ned?” Jacob’s whispers the single syllable, but not a sound falls from his lips, Ned not even being able to hear him.

A fist finds itself in Jacob’s face, cracking against the bone so loud the mob of people freeze, breathless, for an instant. Jacob staggers back, a shaking hand cradling his face as he turns to face his attacker. The man seems more intimidating, more threatening now, and Jacob doesn’t have another second to spare.

The atmosphere of the fight club changes drastically in those seconds, the excitement becoming diluted and off-putting as people wait in anticipation for Jacob’s next move. He furrows his brows, looks up, and stares coldly at the fighter, his demeanor so close to animalistic that it’s hard to tell the difference.

He reacts with anger, hurling a punch and landing it, and then breaking the fighter’s fucking _arm_ before shoving him, subdued, onto the ground. It’s silent for a moment, and then, the building nearly shakes with cheers. Most people are stomping their feet on the ground, raising their hands high as Jacob unwraps the soiled bandages from his hand and is given his clothes back.

Jacob effortlessly slides his clothing back on, making a show of it as for his usual routine after a fight. When he glances back up, Ned is nowhere to be seen.

Ned is already halfway through the crowd, shoving himself forward with a little bit more force than necessary. He has to get about before Jacob does. He must. Jacob is most likely going to _crush him_.

Ned slams open the exit door and throws a glance behind his shoulder, relived to see no one following him out. He steps out into the London night, the side street easily empty, save for a few poor souls passed out against bins and cracked walls.

The midnight air is a refreshing change from the claustrophobic conditions inside the fight club, and beneath the smog, Ned can almost swear he sees the stars. He takes one last glance behind himself before continuing, tugging his jacket forward to cover himself more.

Oh Christ, Ned, really? Wait all night to see Jacob and then end up leaving because you distracted him during a fight? Well, he shouldn’t have been there anyways.

The flight club is a good amount of paces behind Ned now, and as he turns a corner, he runs into a man blocking his path. Ned, flustered, backs up, licking his lips and apologizing for the mistake. The man is silent, face obscured by the shadow of his top hat.

Velvet top hat.

“Going somewhere?” Jacob’s voice is rough and hoarse by overuse, and he tilts his head, revealing a faint bruise already dotting his cheekbone.

“Jacob! Didn’t expect you to be out here so late at night. What are you doing?” Ned smiles, tone unexpectedly relaxed.

“Oh, just out trying to find you. What a coincidence,” he says, the grating baritone of his voice sending a shiver down Ned's spine. Jacob places a hand onto the brick wall beside him, and effectively corners Ned, him backing up until he’s pressed against the cracked bricks.

Ned is silent still, lips parted and eyes half-lidded. He keeps his chin up, even when Jacob’s face hovers dangerously close to his own. He has to show that Jacob won’t get to him.

“Why were you watching me?” Jacob asks simply, Ned realizing that his chest is almost touching his own.

“Went to visit Robert Topping, an old friend of mine. Is that a problem?” Ned answers, smooth as silk, noticing that if he licked his suddenly too-dry lips, he’d risk nearly kissing Jacob.

“Are you getting defensive?” Jacob whispers, and Ned knows it’s a ruse; he’s trying to play him.

Ned doesn’t respond, instead focusing on how their noses brush for the slightest moment. He stiffens up, and Ned can swear he spots a tiny grin on Jacob’s face.  Jacob easily towers over him, and Ned finds his eyes in the darkness and stares at him.

Neither of them moves.

The alley is abandoned and dark and _fuck_ if that doesn’t give Ned the worst idea. He can only pray that Jacob has had enough with Ned’s antics and decides to book it, but that doesn’t happen. They’re both waiting for something to happen and the both of them don’t even realize what that _something_ is.

The glint in Jacob's eye tells Ned that he's not just going to back away. Ned knows he's dangerous, maybe, him being the champion of Robert's Fight Club and all. Yes, he knows. And it couldn't matter less to him. 

Back there in the ring, Jacob looked indomitable. Beastly. Ned wants to see that side more often.

But before he knows it, there’s a hand gently tracing the edge of Ned’s arm, and Ned feels Jacob’s fingers rest on the edge of his jaw. _Jacob, I swear if you’re going to really do this…_ Ned’s breath hitches as he feels Jacob’s lips against his own, feather-light and barely there, as if he blinked he’d miss it.

Jacob inches away only the smallest bit, but the gap feels worrying to Ned nonetheless, and there he decides that fuck it, his night could be a lot worse. Ned lets his back lean against the wall as he darts his hands forward, twisting them into the fabric of Jacob’s coat, and pulls him forward.  Jacob surges into the kiss as Ned does, the knowledge that this is goddamn Jacob Frye making Ned feel that much more exhilarated.

Ned feels hands pressing against the dip of his back as he’s pulled close, impossibly close, to Jacob, who kisses Ned until he feels lightheaded with it. Jacob pins Ned to the brick wall and neither of them care, they’re pressed together as if they should always fit like this.

Ned tugs a hand against the sharp curve of Jacob’s jaw, feeling the stubble prick his fingertips as he runs his fingers lightly along Jacob’s face. Jacob makes a noise, halfway between a growl and a groan, and digs his fingers into Ned’s sides, kissing him roughly.  Jacob pulls away for only a second to take a shallow breath, and that’s when Ned decides to be greedy for once.

With his fingers still firmly imbedded in Jacob’s overcoat, he shifts the two of them, twisting around until he shoves Jacob against the wall as Ned leans heavily on him. Before he even knows what he’s doing, there’s a thigh pressed between Jacob’s thighs, and Ned bites down on his bottom lip.

He has to stand up on his toes to kiss Jacob, and he probably looks ridiculous, but as Ned inches away, he notices the way Jacob’s pupils widen, how his eyes seem to glint.

“Didn’t take you for an aggressive one, Neddy,” Jacob tries to tease, but Ned can tell he’s bullshitting. He’s out of breath.

Ned releases his grip on Jacob, stepping away and brushing the imaginary dirt from his shoulders. “Frye, we have to get back. Evie is going to wonder where you are,” he’s a little bit breathless and a little bit more thrilled than he’d like to admit. Ned’s heart beat is pounding against his ribs so hard he’s afraid they might crack.

“We’re not finished here,” Jacob mumbles uselessly, reaching up and tugging Ned’s hat down over his eyes.

“Hey-” Ned sputters, rearranging his bowler hat and snapping his head in all directions. Jacob isn’t in front of him anymore. He’s not even _around_ him anymore. Ned glances up in confusion and spots Jacob already jumping across the rooftops, the light taps of his boots against the buildings echoing throughout the street.

Ned chuckles to himself in awe, leaning heavily against the wall behind him and nodding his head, _yes_ , he really did that. _Yes_ , Jacob Frye just did that. He might as well head back to the train too; it’s most likely closer to Ned than his own base is.

Ned shuffles down the empty streets alone, in shock, a warm buzz still causing him to tremble. He can feel his skin still covered in goosebumps, and it’s not from the chilly London night around him. He makes out the train stations lights in the distance and heads there, wondering if Jacob managed to already beat him.

Probably be better to go in separately. He wouldn’t want Evie thinking there was something up between them, as if that could ever possibly happen?

It’s almost like Ned is not the one walking, like his legs are just shoving themselves in front of each other to move. He feels light, out of his own body for once, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t the greatest feeling. Ned slowly ambles up the grand staircase of the train station, the usually packed building only home to a few stragglers at this time of night.

Ned spots the familiar train and crosses the station over to it, carefully tugging himself up into one of the carriages. Evie appears in front of him, reading a book with the dim light from a lamp illuminating her compartment.

She looks up at him in surprise for a second and opens her mouth to speak, but then the train shakes slightly, and a hard ‘thunk’ of boots on metal is heard, and Jacob Frye pops his head into the train car from the other end.

“Ned, Jacob? What are you two doing out so late?” Evie questions, shifting her legs and placing her book on her bedside table.

“Neddy and I decided to go out for a pint, Evie. Don’t get so jealous,” Jacobs croons, leaning casually against the back wall.

“And I don’t suppose that ‘Neddy’ here gave you that black eye? _And_ busted lip?” Evie crosses her arms and tilts her head, sighing.

 “Alright, maybe I popped by Robert’s place. Is that really so bad?” Jacob laughs, bemused at his twin’s discontent. “It’s not horrible, just ask Ned. The man has been there countless of times, isn’t that right?”

Ned exhales and cocks his head to the side, smiling back at Jacob. “Oh, all the time, Miss Frye. Robert and I are good friends.”

“Well isn’t that just grand! If you don’t mind me, dear sister, I’ll be heading to sleep now,” Jacob grins once more at the two of them and lumbers down the train carriage, coming a bit closer to Ned than necessary as he passes him by. Ned can still see the tinge of red on his lips.

Evie shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to steel herself. “Ned, you’re very welcome to spend the night here. I’m sure Jacob won’t mind,” she says courteously.

“Oh, I very much won’t mind!” Jacob shouts two carriages down, and all Ned do can grin.

 


End file.
